The Charge

"Halt, Texas Ranger!"

Opening Statement

At the height of his stardom in the mid-1980s, Chuck Norris had built himself
into one of B-moviedom's most dependable action heroes: crushing communists in
Invasion U.S.A, getting revenge for Vietnam in Missing in Action,
and tackling terrorists in The Delta Force. By the end of the 1990s,
though, his Cannon Films-funded, Uzi-led romps through low-budget film were
quickly running out of ammo. With Cannon's principals feuding and the future of
the company uncertain, he was left with the prospect of finding another
production company willing to take a chance on his increasingly unbankable
name—not an easy task for a 53-year-old martial arts star.

Walker, Texas Ranger, then, was something of a godsend. A weekly
action series starring Norris as a crime-busting Texas Ranger, cowboy hat and
all, the show single-handedly reinvigorated Norris' career and solidified his
reputation amongst fans both new and old. Sure, Walker, Texas Ranger was
far from the most compelling or artistically accomplished show on television,
but did it really matter? In an era where quick-witted police procedurals had
begun to dominate the prime-time schedule, audiences couldn't get enough of
watching Chuck Norris stare down sadistic criminals before forcefully driving
his cowboy boots into their face. And that's just what he did, week after week,
for an amazing nine seasons,

Facts of the Case

Cordell Walker (Chuck Norris, The Octagon)
is the tough, roundhouse-delivering pride of the Texas Rangers, a centuries-old
law enforcement agency. He serves the state along with his partner, former
football player James Trivette (Clarence Gilyard, Matlock); his mutual
love interest, the oft-kidnapped Assistant District Attorney Alex Cahill (Sheree
J. Wilson, Dallas), and retired ranger C.D. Parker (Noble Willingham, Good Morning, Vietnam), who
dispenses advice from behind the counter at C.D.'s Bar & Grill. Throughout
each season, Walker comes up against a veritable army of reprehensible criminals
including drug dealers, rapists, contract killers, and arms merchants. After
tracking down each moustache-twirling villain, Walker metes out two-fisted (or,
more likely, two-footed) justice in a decisive bare-knuckles brawl.

Walker, Texas Ranger: The Complete First Season collects all 26
hard-hitting, bone-crunching episodes from the show's landmark first season on
seven shiny little discs.

The Evidence

With each episode often resembling a lesser Chuck Norris movie from the
1980s, only compressed down to 45 minutes, Walker, Texas Ranger may be
just about as formulaic as television can possibly get, but therein lies the
pulpy, underlying attraction. Even though viewers know exactly how each show
will turn out even before they hit "play," Norris' action-packed
series is still consistently entertaining in a "comfort TV" kind of a
way, a fast-moving and simplistically plotted program that hit every expected
note and hit it hard: every bad guy is as evil as they come, Walker is always a
pillar of virtue (despite his penchant for drop-kicking opponents in the
throat), and the show's final showdown will always put justice on top.

It should come as little surprise then that the show was executive produced
by John Ashley and Frank Lupo, veterans of the previous decade's premier
action/adventure show The A-Team. Ashley and Lupo obviously retained some
of the broad strokes of their earlier hit when determining the direction of the
show this season, but with one noticeable difference—bad guys actually
died in Walker, Texas Ranger. While none of these episodes come close to
matching the body count of Norris' classic B-action films of the 1980s, they are
far more lethal than any show being produced at the time. Though he usually
remembers to snap the cuffs on the head villain, Walker doesn't think twice
about causally drawing his .357 (or even a crossbow) and taking out any henchman
who looks at him the wrong way. Later complaints over the level of violence in
Walker, Texas Ranger may have resulted in the series' brutality being
toned down, but this season is about as ass-kickingly violent as it gets on the
small screen.

Based ostensibly on Texas Ranger J.J. McQuade, the scruffy, hard-living hero
of arguably Norris' best film, 1983's Lone Wolf McQuade, Cordell Walker
has become the karate champion's signature role, and for good reason. Coinciding
with Norris' own personal return to Christianity, McQuade's recklessness has
been significantly toned down for this role, turning Walker into a highly moral
man with complete faith in the justice system for which he stands. Norris is
absolutely earnest in the show, bringing a blue-collar charisma to Walker built
on the optimism and traditional American values, even though he dispenses what
is probably the toughest form of tough love ever conceived.

Offsetting the character's basic appeal is the fact that after 30 years in
show business, Chuck Norris still cannot act. Like, not at all. It was a
definitely a wise move on the producer's part to pair him with Clarence Gilyard
as his whiz-kid sidekick Jimmy Trivette. On one level, this allows the
scriptwriters to engage in standard, buddy flick shtick—Trivette's modern
detection methods versus Walker's natural instincts, Walker's physical
superiority over Trivette despite his advanced age—but Gilyard's emotive
style and comic touches prove the perfect foil for Norris' perpetually
stone-faced Ranger and, together, they make a likable team of law enforcement
officers. Wilson and screen veteran Willingham fill out the cast ably, even if
they're more or less two-dimensional creations in the inaugural season. Guest
stars are few and far between, but watch for Stuart Whitman, Danica McKellar,
and a remarkable turn by Tobey Maguire as a juvenile delinquent in "The
Prodigal Son."

Unfortunately, Paramount's presentation of Walker, Texas Ranger is
only average. The included episodes are weak and pixilated, with dull colors.
Since it's only a little more than a decade old, I anticipated better transfers
than what I see here. The stereo 2.0 soundtrack is pretty typical for a TV show,
cramped and slightly muffled. Music and dialogue come through adequately, but
more dynamic sound effects, like gunfire, are rather flat. Fans of the show will
also be disappointed to discover that there are no extras included in this set,
not even a brief interview or introduction by Norris himself.

Closing Statement

It's a disappointingly bare-bones, barely passable presentation for Chuck
this time, but fans of Walker, Texas Ranger will want this highly
enjoyably, if mindless, DVD set anyways.

The Verdict

Not guilty!

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